


put a quick end to me

by mosttroubledbird (howlikeagod)



Category: Dimension 20 (Web Series)
Genre: Dirty Talk, F/M, Face Slapping, Grinding, Light BDSM, Mild Painplay, Pegging, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Under-negotiated Kink, at least not for this specific purpose, canon said 'you can have little a femdom. as a treat.' and i said 'how about LOT a femdom instead', doffing armor as foreplay, guys i did actual RESEARCH for this pegging fic, not about the pegging part, overuse of the word 'squishy', theo and gooey's absolutely batshit canon dirty talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:54:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28439463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/howlikeagod/pseuds/mosttroubledbird
Summary: A new age dawns in Candia, and Theo has orders to follow.In which Gooey puts her professional skills to work, makes good on a few threats, and brings Sir Theobald Gumbar's story to a fitting end.
Relationships: Gooey/Theobald Gumbar
Comments: 17
Kudos: 35





	put a quick end to me

**Author's Note:**

> title from "Wizard Buys A Hat" by the Mountain Goats because I listened to it a lot while I was writing this and, fuck it, it's a Gooey song.
> 
> i HOPE it goes without saying, but don't do like... any of this without talking it out with your partner first and being safe. the under-negotiated kink tag is there for a reason.
> 
> a useful visual aid in the end notes

Theobald clears his throat for a third time. Gooey has been looking directly at him since he walked into the room, of course, but there’s—propriety, and all that. There’s no courtly way, as far as he knows, to broach the subject: _The battle is over, we won, and I believe you agreed to slam me down, as they say, big-style, when those conditions were met._

She hooks her axe into a loop on her belt and strides closer. The sound of her boots on the marbled candy floor rings Theo’s helmet like a church bell.

It’s not so different from the sound his own boots make. It shouldn’t be, at least. But Gooey is outfitted for guerilla tactics, ambush and stealth. Her armor is padded for silence, buckled tight to avoid jangling the way Theo’s does. As she moves, there is only the creak of thick cloth and the _ring, ring, ring_ beneath the soles of her feet.

“Sir Theobald,” she says. Her voice carries its permanent rasp, but she has let it drift into the higher, softer key she uses when not at the service of her queen.

“Gooey!” he greets too loudly. “Um. Gooey. Hello,” Theo tries again.

She smirks. He clocks it: just a tiny crinkle of purple skin beside the hardened cascade of her burn scar. He’s tipped his hand, and Theo thrills at the sudden awareness that they both know why he’s here.

Her chocolate breastplate presses against Theo’s. There is the softest _tap_ as they click together.

“Want me to stand a little closer to you, is that it?” she murmurs at a rapid clip.

“Wherever you want to stand,” Theo mutters back, “not like I could stop you.”

“No, I bet you couldn’t. Not after you take that armor off, show me how squishy you are under there—”

“The squishiest,” Theo affirms, a sweet burn rising to the tips of his ears.

“Yeah, you go fuckin’ flat under pressure, huh? Then you bounce right back, don’t you? Take it and just get ready for more.”

“Mhm.”

“I’d make that gummy ass _jiggle—_ ”

“Guys, hey,” interrupts Queen Saccharina of House Frostwhip, First of her Name, Sovereign Ruler of Candia and the Sugarlands, Witch-Queen of the Dairy Sea, High Priestess of the Sweetening Path, Archmage of Lost Sucrosia, Enemy of the Faith, The Sundae Sorceress, and Storm-Captain of the Frosted Fleet, from her throne about fifteen feet away, “you two _have_ to stop doing this when there are other people in the room.”

Theobald stands at attention so abruptly he feels something in his spine pop. “My queen!” He drops to one knee, purely for lack of any better ideas about how to navigate this specific social situation.

Gooey, above his head, snorts and pulls his helmet off. Theo looks up and means to send her a glare, but she’s already walking away, so all he gets is a—well, an astonishing view that is certainly inappropriate to admire publicly.

“I’ll be in your quarters, Theo,” Gooey rumbles over her shoulder. There is a metallic thud as she tosses his helmet in the air and catches it with one hand, bringing her opposite palm down against the candy steel in a hard _slap._

Theo’s entire body twitches. He ducks his head, then peers up below his eyebrows at Saccharina.

The Queen of Candia, for her part, does not do him the kindness of even trying to hide her shit-eating grin.

“You know I’m not really into the whole absolute authority thing,” Saccharina says, “but I’m a little disappointed you still haven’t followed my one command.”

Theo clears his throat. “Uh, Princess Ruby gave me a similar order,” he admits, and bites back a smile of his own. _So did Amethar,_ he doesn’t say, _but I’m not going to follow that one. The Concordant Emperor gets confused sometimes._

“So the House of Rocks is unanimous.” Saccharina taps the butt of the Winter Scoop against the floor as if passing judgement. “What are you waiting for?”

“I’m in the throne room, Your Majesty.”

“And?”

“Can you…?” Theo gestures at his genuflection. He knows he could get up and leave, but the other knights, the Tart Guard, servants and counts who aren’t Liam and visiting dignitaries won’t understand the fine line Candia’s new queen walks between a lack of pretension and outright rudeness. If Theo doesn’t teach her the courtly language, who will?

“Oh!” Saccharina waves a hand. “You’re dismissed, Sir Theobald.”

“Thank you, my queen.”

Theo rises to his feet and walks to his chambers as quickly as he can get away with while pretending not to run.

Once he catches up, Theo finds the door has been left ajar. He glances over his shoulder before entering, just in case the sight inside is meant for a more private audience than any passing mason already at work rebuilding the gatehouse. Assured of his solitude, he pulls aside the edge of his cape.

“Princess, do you want to go… find something to eat? Like, a rat? Is that what you eat? I should have thought about this sooner.”

The licorice snake hisses as good-naturedly as she ever does, bites him on the calf, and slithers into a niche in the wall.

“Ow. Great.” Theo tugs at the cape’s fastenings and shoulders the door open.

The sight of his own room, largely untouched, makes Theobald briefly dizzy. He never got the chance to actually sleep here in their brief respite after escaping on Annabelle’s ship—he’d wanted to check in with Toby first, and, well.

Much has changed. He’d almost forgotten that not everything has.

Gooey, sitting on the end of his bed, is a groundingly unfamiliar sight. As the door opens, she looks up from her work fiddling with the buckle of her left spaulder, right hand up under her raised left arm. Her poleyns have been unbuckled from her knees already, and her vambraces from her arms. They all lie together on the floor beside the bed.

“I put your helmet in the corner,” she says by way of greeting. Sure enough, Theo’s helmet shines on top of his dresser, no worse for wear.

“Thank you. Um.” Theo shuts the door behind himself. Gooey finishes with the buckle and uncovers a shoulder. “Would you like a hand? With the other one, and, uh, the rest of your—” He’s about to say _armor,_ but then he remembers that, in all likelihood and given the context, he could as easily say _clothes._ He swallows heavily.

“Because that’s my blind side?” Her voice is low but entirely neutral.

“Well, if that—if that gives you trouble, then sure, but. I’d like to help regardless,” Theo says, somewhere between a confession and a plea. “I like to be of use.”

Theo doesn’t think he’s ever seen Gooey _smile_ , per se, but her eye gleams with an interest that fills Theo’s belly with a syrupy want. He doesn’t move an inch until she nods and holds out her right arm.

“This does it for you?” Gooey asks as Theo kneels next to the bed. He undoes the buckle in a quick couple of movements, easier with two hands.

Theo nods, realizes Gooey can’t see him at this angle, and breathes a _“Yes,”_ that comes out hoarser than he expected. He fills the smouldering beat of silence by setting her right spaulder next to the left, beside the other pieces on the floor. “May I—do you want? Help with your breastplate, too?”

Gooey turns her head to regard him for a moment. Her eye is dark and gorgeous, the same soft brown as the melt-mark down the other side of her face. Theo drops his gaze, worried he’ll seem like he’s staring.

In a sudden surge of movement, Gooey hauls him up from his knees and shoves him back. Theo lands on the bed in a bouncing, topheavy scramble. He’s unsure where she wants him, but the preening brainstem instinct to give over control guides his body into a pliant slump. Theo raises his eyebrows at Gooey, flat on his back on the mattress.

Gooey rolls her eye, grabs him by the collar of his armor, and pulls his torso up off the bed. “Sit up.”

Theo obeys. Without ceremony, Gooey turns around and sits herself between his spread thighs.

“Um,” Theo says intelligently. Gooey grabs his hands from where they rest atop his legs and guides them to the straps of her breastplate’s harness.

“It’s two pieces,” she explains as he undoes the buckles with care—there’s a desperation in how precise he forces himself to be, a need to show that he can be good. “Picked them off some dead Bulbians a while back. Neither fit right, but Jonbon made some changes so I could wear them both.”

“It’s—good craftsmanship,” Theo hums. His knuckles press against Gooey’s underlayer. She has no proper arming doublet, just a meep leather jerkin to create the barrier between cold armor and warm skin.

“I killed that one,” she says as Theo starts on the second set of buckles. “Put my axe right through the back of his neck. He gushed syrup everywhere as he died, some blueberry fucker.”

“Mm.” Theo makes quiet noises of acknowledgement as he finishes the last strap on the harness.

“Bet you’d bleed a hell of a lot sweeter.”

“I bet I would.”

Gooey raises her arms expectantly. With a shaky breath, Theo follows the command, takes the edges of her double breastplate in his hands, and guides the whole thing off of her.

Her skin is hot enough to scald. Cracked marks turn the texture of it into a topographical map. Theo feels ridges and valleys of scar tissue brush against what little exposed skin there is on his own arms, in the gaps between his gauntlets and vambraces. He carefully lays the last of Gooey’s armor alongside the pieces they’ve already removed, together. He feels the urge to straighten them on the floor, or place them into a correct reverse order for ease of donning the next time she needs to put them on.

Before he can make the show of service—which he has a feeling _he_ would enjoy more than Gooey—she turns around in his lap and grabs him by the face.

“Look at that,” she says in her deep, quiet voice. It rumbles over Theo like distant thunder, the kind of sound that is felt in the chest more than heard. “Guess you got me out of my armor first. Doesn’t seem fair, does it?”

“It—” Theo wets his lips, only to feel his mouth go dry again at the way Gooey’s eye tracks the movement. “No, it doesn’t.”

“Well?” She climbs backwards and stands at the end of the bed, legs between Theo’s knees.

Gooey is being very clear, he’ll give her that, and doesn’t look like she’s planning to move any time soon. Theo appreciates that bluntness. As well, he appreciates the open-ended approach to specificity. It feels like a challenge, to see what he’ll do.

What he does is remove his gauntlets and vambraces, look Gooey dead in the eye, and lean down to unbuckle his leg pieces. The movement brings Theo’s face on a level with her hips. He’s no fencer, no battle master, but Theobald sees the look in Gooey’s eye as he lays his cheek against the curve where her thigh meets her hip and thinks, _riposte._

Her breath comes out heavy enough to hear. A warm, calloused hand lands on the crown of Theo’s head. He thinks, imagines, _wishes_ she would unbuckle her belt and shove his face into her as he tries to keep up the fine motor control necessary to finish his armor. The silent suggestion is there and no mistake, but it’s not Theo’s place to ask.

Gooey’s thumb strokes at the skin behind his ear, over the ridge at the side of his skull. He slips up with a buckle and has to take a second pass—there is a telltale rattle of plate against plate, and Theo can feel the quiet chuckle Gooey lets out at his clumsiness.

“Done yet?” she asks.

“Just one—There.” He sets his greaves aside with the rest of the doffed armor. For a moment, he admires the way gold and chocolate look next to one another.

“Good. Stand up.”

“I’m still—Okay.” Theo stands.

Gooey still hasn’t moved, and her clothed chest presses against his armor. He’s reminded of a tale he heard as a young man, when a troupe of players rolled into Dulcington a scant couple of years before the war, about a pair of lovers and a wall between them they could only whisper through. It’s a melodramatic thought to have—armor comes off easier than a wall comes down; _lover_ is a strong word for what he and Gooey are doing, or have yet to do; by his recollection, the play wasn’t even very good—but it tingles across his scalp as surely as the brush of air from Gooey’s mouth sends a snow-cone-cold shock down his spine when she leans in to whisper in his ear.

“Turn around and lie on your squishy face, Theo. I’m finally gonna get you out of that fucking armor.”

Theo hurries to comply. He lays himself out, arms spread to give Gooey as much access to the harness as possible. Let it never be said Sir Theobald Gumbar does not strive to make life more convenient for those around him, regardless of his success rate in that area.

There is a short series of _thud_ s as Gooey pulls off Theo’s shoes and then her own. He feels a flash of embarrassment that he didn’t think to do that himself, just let his booted feet hang off the end of the bed like an exhausted squire—fuck, wait, did he ever check that Limon is alive? First thing tomorrow—but in his defense, she never told him to.

The mattress dips as Gooey climbs up behind Theo, then a sudden pressure against his hips startles a moan out of him.

“What did I tell you?” Gooey says. “You’ll bounce right back into shape.”

She grinds down against Theo’s lower back, pressing his pelvis firmly into the mattress below. The edge of his plate digs into his stomach uncomfortably, but Gooey’s thighs bracket his waist and Gooey’s hands are on his back, slipping up under one pauldron and then the other. He digs his face into his sheets, a groan in his throat.

“There we go.” The last buckle gives way under Gooey’s capable hands. She doesn’t get off of him for a long moment, instead rubbing strong palms over his back that he can barely feel through the quilted jacket he wears beneath his armor. The shapes of her hands are obscured, but the pressure is there, the weight, keeping him down. “Alright, get up.”

She rolls off of him, letting Theo push himself up and out of his breastplate. As he shuffles the rest of the armor off onto the floor, Gooey leans over the other side of the bed.

“Uh, Gooey?” Theo kneels in the middle of the bed, watching her. He doesn’t look away from the powerful heft of her legs this time. They’re in private, it’s fine. He never took any vows to start with.

“Yeah?”

“What are you—? This is my room. Is there something you’re looking for?”

“I brought it with me,” she says. “Ran an errand in Dulcington this morning.” She straightens up, tossing a few locks of red hair out of her face—Theo’s nails dig, hard, into the fabric of his jacket—and shows him what she brought.

“You—Um, good. I. Like that.” Theo feels his face turn a shade closer to maroon. “But. The city was evacuated. It’s only been like a day, how did you—?”

Gooey stares at him.

“I put a brick through the window of an abandoned store,” she explains, slowly, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

She twirls her spoils in one hand like a sword trick. Swirls of purple, red, and green spiral down the length of it—not exactly Gooey’s style, the brightly-colored, phallic lollipop, but Theobald can’t deny it is very much his own.

“You _looted_ a _sex shop._ ” That tracks. He can’t deny, of all the looting he’s been witness to since meeting Saccharina’s marauders, this one tastes sweet on the back of his tongue with the knowledge that it was for _him._ And for Gooey herself, obviously. But people don’t do things for Theo all that often, which he’s fine with, he _likes_ acts of service—

“Yep. Now get undressed and show me that soft tummy of yours. Fuck, I’m gonna rail you so hard you’ll be a big bowl of gummy bear pudding by the time I’m done. How’s that sound?”

Theo is already halfway through the fastenings on his quilted gambeson by the time Gooey finishes her sentence.

“Good. Great. Of course.” He feels desperate to take what Gooey says and turn it back, open-palmed. “I’m nothing but jelly inside, I’ll show you.”

She grabs him by the neck, not a choke but a firm grip that brooks no argument, and pushes him back against the headboard. Theo finishes with the jacket at the same time Gooey hooks hands into the waist of his hose and yanks them down and off.

“There it is,” she croons. Theo wriggles, naked, against the sheets. Gooey digs fingernails into his chest and rakes them down his torso, over the soft curve of Theo’s stomach. “I’d turn you inside _out_ if I could _.”_

“I bet,” he pants. “Wanna try?”

Gooey, still in her pants and jerkin, forearms and midriff exposed and her skin a deep, rich purple that reminds Theo of standing watch on the castle walls at a dozen hundred fallings of twilight, climbs on top of him. She straddles his waist again, face-to-face this time so he can see the heavy heat in her eye—sharp like a shot of malt whisky, dark chocolate just on the pleasurable side of bitter.

“Oh, I’ll try.” Her open hand _cracks,_ hard, across his face.

Theo does what he does best. He takes the hit, smiles, and turns the other cheek.

Gooey slaps him again, backhanded, then a third time with her palm. “You like that?” she asks breathlessly between hits. “You like that, you squishy little bear? You’re _wobbling_ with it.”

“Yeah, hard as you can,” Theo urges. “Hard as you want.”

“We really should,” she hits him again, “talk through this next time. Let me know if you need to stop.”

“I said I wanted to get slammed down, big-style. Up to you what that means.” Theo hiccups a startled noise when Gooey grinds down against him at the same moment she digs fingers hard enough into his shoulder that he anticipates the ache will last. It sounds, and he wouldn’t admit this under pain of death—unless Gooey asked—a lot like a _squeak._

“Everybody’s got limits,” Gooey says.

“I’m sure I do.” Theo looks up at her beneath his brows, lips parted around heavy breaths. “Find them?”

For the first time since he’s met her, Gooey looks caught off-guard. For the first time since they’ve met, Gooey takes one of Theo’s ears in each hand, yanks him up as she surges down, and kisses him hard on the mouth.

Her tongue rams past his teeth, relatively small but quick and deadly like an ambush in the forest. She only gives him a brief moment to appreciate it before she pulls back enough to bite his lip. Theo tastes a bloom of cherry.

He puts his hands on Gooey as she slides her tongue over his again, one at the back of her head and the other at the small of her back. Not to hold her in place—that’s her job—but just to touch. She licks over the ridges of his teeth, hot enough to melt him from the inside out. Theo hears another squeak slip from his throat as Gooey starts to grind against him again. Her pants are padded leather, not exactly comfortable against the skin of his belly and less so against his cock, but—he doesn’t _not_ like it.

When she pulls back, she takes his tongue with her. Her teeth close over it and scrape away slowly, tight enough he is surprised when it doesn’t bleed. The final nip right at the tip sends a sharp pain lancing through. His eyes water and his toes curl.

“You won’t regret saying that,” she promises. Theo can feel the movement of her lips against his jaw. “But I _am_ gonna put you through the wringer first.”

“Yeah? Did I keep you waiting long enough?”

“That,” Gooey says as she sits up, legs straightening so she straddles Theo’s stomach but no longer presses against him, “you _will_ regret.”

She pulls her jerkin over her head and throws it into the corner. A thin band covers her breasts, which she unwinds in short order, and Theo looks at her bare chest and wonders if this might be another use for his mouth.

“Stay there,” Gooey says with a pat to Theo’s trembling tummy.

He puts his hands flat to the mattress and doesn’t move a muscle as Gooey rolls off of him. She goes, again, to the side of the bed. The sound of a belt unbuckling makes his ears twitch.

“You can look,” she adds with a note of amusement. Theo presses his lips together, reassures himself that he has permission, and turns his head.

As much as he avoided seeing and being seen during certain activities apparently everyone else was perfectly fine with during the war, Sir Theobald is fairly accustomed to nudity. It’s a fact of daily life in an order of knights, even more so during long periods of fighting in close quarters. There is nothing shocking about the sight of Gooey naked—the sight itself is less erotic, even, than the looming heat of her has been on multiple occasions when they were both fully clothed.

Still. He’s grateful, for the permission to look. Very, very grateful.

Gooey smirks and puts a hand on one hip. In her other hand, she holds a bottle of something he would guess came from the same broken storefront as the lollipop. The economy of Dulcington is truly a marvel.

“I’m guessing it’s been a while. You want my fingers first?” she asks as she leans a knee on the mattress and braces a hand on Theo’s thigh.

“Oh. Sure,” he agrees eagerly. The oil is fragrant, sweet and vaguely minty, when Gooey opens the bottle and dips her hand inside.

“Great. Next time you’re getting bent over without ceremony, though.” Gooey leans down, licks over his cock, and pushes a finger inside him.

“ _Oh,”_ Theo gasps. He writhes at once toward the heat and pressure, caught between impulses like a panicked animal. Soon, Gooey pulls her mouth away and focuses on fitting her fingers into him with a single-minded drive Theo would normally respect and admire. As it is, he thoroughly enjoys it, though his appreciation is far from professional.

“Knew you’d be so easy for this,” she mutters into his skin. Her mouth burns a sticky trail from his lower belly up to his chest. Theo’s legs shake. “How much of me can you take, huh? Want my whole hand? Want my fist? I’d bury myself elbow-deep in you.”

“I—” Theo chokes on his own voice. At some point he’s squeezed his eyes shut, the stretch and pressure of Gooey’s fingers and the sharp wetness of her tongue and teeth enough stimulation on their own to send his brain into the Bulb-damned sky.

“I could finger you all night. I might try it sometime, get you so worked up you cry for it. I’d love to see those cherry cheeks all wet when you’re begging to get fucked.” She grabs the underside of his thigh in her free hand, pulling his legs further apart. “Then I’ll spank you while you take it. Do you want that now? Or do you want me to fuck you on your back?”

“What do you think?” Theo manages to find the brain cells to string together an entire sentence, subject and verb and all. He’s very proud of himself.

“I think,” she says with a deep thrust and a half-twist of her hand that makes Theo feel like one of those obscene puppets in the best possible way, “I’m _telling_ you to tell me what you want. You like a challenge, don’t you, you gooshy fuck?”

Theo does like a challenge, and he likes following orders, and he likes—He—

“Spank me next time,” he babbles. “I want it faster now, please.”

“That wasn’t so hard.” Gooey works her fingers out slowly. Her other hand rubs over Theo’s chest, calloused palm against a nipple making him gasp, before sliding up to wrap gently around his throat.

He opens his eyes to find Gooey staring. Her brow sits low and heavy over her eye. He feels the weight of her attention, seemingly deep in thought. Theobald swallows.

Gooey leans forward until their faces are a hair’s breadth apart, then plants a little peck of a kiss on his nose. It startles him so much he laughs aloud.

The ghost of a smirk reappears on Gooey’s face. She reaches over, grabs the dildo with the sure grip she uses on the handle of her axe, and settles between Theo’s legs. Gooey rubs the end of it over his hole, slick with lube he thinks he can feel trickling out of him. The thought makes Theobald’s belly twitch and his hands scrabble at the sheets underneath.

She takes a moment with the bottle of oil again. The tension has Theobald’s thighs shaking, bottom lip between his teeth.

“Hey.” Gooey reaches up again and takes Theo’s chin in her hand. “Look at me. Watch.”

He’s certainly not at an angle to watch her sink into him, but he looks into her face and she looks back. Gooey’s lips are parted and her cheek is flushed a rich plum. It’s the closest thing to vulnerability he’s ever seen from Gooey—it’s a good look on her.

For the record, Theo is certain that if Gooey looks mildly disheveled, he must look utterly wrecked. That certainty solidifies as she pushes, hard, and Theo moans loud enough to be embarrassing.

“There it is.” Her voice is low, gravelly, satisfied. Gooey braces her hips against the end of the dildo and thrusts.

The pressure is broader than her fingers, less focus on the individual points fucking him open and more on fullness, on how much deeper she hits and the way it makes Theo want to spread himself out like pulled taffy to feel her in every inch of him. He huffs with every press of her hips. Each sound of low, crooning praise and repetition of the sweet, filthy things she’s been saying all day turns his mind to spun sugar.

Gooey presses her hands into his stomach and hoists a leg over his thigh to get an angle for herself.

“You like that?” she asks, grinding wet and hard over the base of Theo’s cock. He whines an affirmative that probably bears some resemblance to a _Yes,_ if one is being very generous. “Here.”

She grabs one of his wrists and pulls the hand to her breast. Theo squeezes as directed, and Gooey leans down over him to bite into his chest. Her knee pressed into the bed between Theo’s legs, her thigh flexing hard against the lollipop to keep a rhythm inside him, her wet folds against him and her teeth in his skin—Theo has not thanked the Bulb for anything in a long time, and never will again, but he can’t let the gratitude he feels in the moment go unremarked-upon.

“Thank—” He hiccups a gasp at a particularly deep press inside him. “Thank you. For. _Ah._ This.”

“For fucking you?” Gooey pants. Her hair falls into her face, starting to cling to her forehead with a sheen of sweat. “I’m not doing you a favor.”

“No, but—I appreciate it.” The words come out thin and hoarse, close, again, to squeaking.

Gooey looms. “Good.”

She presses her weight down onto him further. Her hand clamps around Theo’s chin and cheeks, squashing his lips open in a welcoming ‘O’. Gooey bites his bottom lip, licks over it as she pulls away, and spits into his open mouth.

_“Fuck,”_ Theo mumbles. His hips jerk, bounce once under Gooey, and she slides harder against the shaft of his cock. She hisses and licks back into his mouth. The canting of her hips goes frantic for a moment and her leg slips in its inexorable movement.

“Gonna come against your chubby, gummy dick,” Gooey growls. “Fucking—I’ll bounce you off every wall in this castle, you’d like that.”

“Yeah? I’ll hit the ceiling if you do it hard enough,” Theo replies. She grabs his other hand and puts it in the middle of her back, pushing flat against him so her breasts press into his chest, hand trapped between them.

Gooey’s shuddering starts in her thighs, until her grinding against Theo’s cock ramps up abruptly to a hard bout of thrusts that slap their legs together. She shoves a forearm down across Theo’s collarbone, firm enough he couldn’t move if he wanted to, and grunts against his mouth, kiss going biting. Gooey cuts his lip on her eyetooth when she comes.

Theo rubs his hand over her back as her breathing evens out. Gooey’s breaths are punctuated by a series of muttered, astoundingly creative curses involving anatomy and bodily functions of, among other things, the Bulb, the Hungry One, and the Sugar Plum _fucking_ Fairy. She presses her temple against his, shivers once more, and raises herself on her arms above him.

“Um.” Theo swallows under her hazy stare. Before he can say much else, she’s shuffling back to wrap one strong and skillful hand around his dick and using the other to shove the dildo into him at an angle that punches all the air from his body. “Oh, _shit.”_

“You didn’t have to wait for permission,” she says, “but for what it’s worth, you can come now.”

“Would have been—” Theo arches his back and smacks his skull into the headboard, “nice to know.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I like it. You’re always so concerned about whether or not I outrank you. Nice of you to let me get ahead for once.”

“You can have,” Theo pants, right at the edge, “as much head as you want.”

Gooey squeezes, twists her hand, and that’s _it_ for Sir Theobald Gumbar. He comes over his own stomach to the sweet, dark sound of Gooey murmuring, “I’ll hold you to that.”

“You don’t. Um. Gooey, I.” Theo rubs a hand over his face awkwardly as Gooey pulls on her boots. “That is. You could—If you want—”

“It’s four in the afternoon,” Gooey says.

“Oh.” Theo looks out his window, sure enough, to find the sky a late-afternoon autumn blue. “Fuck, I’m tired.”

Gooey snorts.

“Little teddy bear needs a nap? Or are you just old?” she teases.

Theo bristles. “It’s been a long… You know. War, and stuff.”

“War, and stuff,” Gooey agrees. She stands up, regards Theo for a moment, and cups the side of his face in her hand.

“If you want to,” he says. “Do that again, sometime when it’s actually night—”

“I might drop by next time I get sick of Jonbon’s snoring. We’ll see.” She blinks, once, slowly, and pulls away to leave.

“I. Yes. I don’t snore!” Theo calls after her, silhouetted in the doorway. Gooey turns until he sees her face in profile. It’s the unmelted side, so he can see the way her skin crinkles when she smiles.

“Good to know,” she replies. “Get dressed, Sir Theobald. We have a queen to serve.”

“Right,” Theo agrees. “She might have more orders. Uh. Not about, not that this was—”

Gooey shuts the door. Theo sighs. He stretches his arms over his head and realizes getting his armor on is going to be a real pain in the ass for the next little while. Ah, well. If there’s one thing Theobald Gumbar will sacrifice plenty for, it’s a good cause.

**Author's Note:**

> 


End file.
